Mark

Mark had been coming to this half-empty café every Tuesday and Thursday for the past three years. All that time, he'd silently, almost obsessively, watched Jan—the tall, polite waiter with his ever-present gentle smile. Jan moved between tables, taking orders, unaware of the eyes watching him from the dark corner by the window. For Jan, Mark was just another regular customer. For Mark, Jan had become the center of the universe. But there's a limit to everything, and today, that quiet illusion of stability was shattered.
The bell above the door rang, signaling the establishment's closing. Jan was just wiping down a nearby table, his back to the dining room. Mark's footsteps were muffled but decisive.

“We’re closing now, sir...” Ian began, turning around with his usual polite smile.

He didn't have time to finish. Mark closed the distance in a single, wide step. There was no malice in his eyes—only the chilling, cold determination of a man who was deliberately committing this crime. Before Yan could react or retreat, Mark delivered a sharp, precise, brutal blow from below, straight up, between the waiter's legs.
The air hissed out of Ian's lungs. The pain was so sudden and overwhelming that his knees instantly buckled. The waiter's eyes widened in shock, his face instantly paled, and he began to slump forward, losing consciousness from the pain.
Mark acted without a second's hesitation, as if he'd rehearsed this move hundreds of times. He stepped toward the falling body, grabbed the limp Ian under the chest, and, straightening up abruptly, slung him over his right shoulder like a heavy sack.
Adjusting the unconscious burden and holding Jan tightly by the hips, Mark glanced quickly at the empty hall. Silence reigned all around. Not a sound except his own heavy breathing. Turning, he carried Jan with confident strides into his expensive mansion. Jan woke up on a bed, with not a soul nearby...